


It's An Old Song (And This Is How It Ends)

by sadtunes



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Character Study, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Gen, Major character death - Freeform, Natasha Romanov Feels, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Natasha Romanov Is Not Okay, Natasha Romanov Needs a Hug, Not Beta Read, Tags May Change, because Natasha's death is a freaking tragedy, natasha romanov character study, not really but kinda, slightly suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:33:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26606803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadtunes/pseuds/sadtunes
Summary: "She’s not afraid, she thinks, as she realizes that she’s still falling. Death has been waiting a long time for her, and she thinks she is finally ready to say hello. She wonders if she’ll ever hit the ground and the thought is almost a relief. Because she’s been falling for a while now, long before a purple tyrant decided to uproot the lives of everyone that’s ever lived. She’s been falling and falling and it’s a distressing feeling, not knowing if she’ll ever stop."ORNatasha's thoughts as she falls.
Relationships: Clint Barton & Laura Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Clint Barton/Laura Barton, Laura Barton & Natasha Romanov
Comments: 11
Kudos: 20





	It's An Old Song (And This Is How It Ends)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Tell My Family I Love Them](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22624393) by [Sanctuaria](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanctuaria/pseuds/Sanctuaria). 



> I'm taking a break from my denial of Natasha's death to write this fic. Be thankful.
> 
> My take on Natasha's thoughts as she falls.
> 
> Minor TW: Suicidal Thoughts.  
> It's not expressly mentioned, but the main character is slightly relieved at the prospect of death. Please don't read if that could trigger you.
> 
> Also please tell me if there are any mistakes, I don't have a beta so that's completely possible.
> 
> Title is from Hadestown the musical.

_-to know how it ends_

_and still begin to sing it again_

_as if it might turn out this time-_

**_|_ ** _anais mitchell_ **_|_ **

  
  


When Natasha lets go of Clint’s hand, she’s not afraid.

It hurts, a little, to see that broken look on his face, to know just how much her choice pains him. Not that it was ever a choice, really. It was never a choice, between him or her, she’s almost offended that he thought she’d willingly give him up. She thinks a small part of her knew that one of them wasn't coming back, that feeling of dread she had since the beginning of all this grew tenfold when she saw Thanos come back without his daughter. 

_His daughter._

She thinks maybe he loved Gamora, an object as powerful as the soul stone couldn’t be fooled by theatrics. So yes, he might have loved her, as much as a person with a heart so dark could possibly love another. After all, she knows what that's like; the dangerous, broken girl she had been when Clint had found her managed to love him as soon as he outstretched his hand.

Of course, she hadn’t realized it then, that feeling. It takes a while for a person to catch up with what their brain is trying to tell them. Even so- when he brought her to Laura, she thinks maybe she could have loved her too; but back then, she hadn’t deserved love, and it was such a foreign concept, she pushed it out of her mind and locked it with all the horrors of her past, never to be remembered.

_Love is for children_ , she tells herself, the nights when they were curled up on the couch, her snuggled in between and warmth finding its way into the cracks of the wall around her heart.

_Love is for children,_ she says on the days she thinks she just can’t leave that little cabin one more time, on the days where she knows that if she leaves she may never be that warm again.

_Love is for children,_ she says when Laura’s ragged breathing is all that she can hear through the phone, her and Clint too far away to be there holding her hand; instead it’s a nurse guiding Laura through the wonderful stress of childbirth.

_Love is for children,_ she says when tiny little hands grip onto her single finger and nonsensical babbles carry into her ears.

_Love is for children,_ she says to the God of Mischief and it’s so loud when she actually pronounces it, the words are screaming at her in her mind, where no one can hear the tiny voice that says: 

_What if she wants to be a child?_

And it’s sad, so very sad. In the middle of the night where not even Clint’s whispers through the phone can lull her to sleep, because she hasn’t been a child in so long. She’s never really been a child to begin with.

  
  


_She’s not afraid_ , she thinks, as she realizes that she’s still falling. Death has been waiting a long time for her, and she thinks she is finally ready to say hello. The fall is stretching out very long, though she thinks her mind is probably moving much faster then the gravity pulling her down. She wonders if she’ll ever hit the ground and the thought is almost a relief. Because she’s been falling for a while now, long before a purple tyrant decided to uproot the lives of everyone that’s ever lived. She’s been falling and falling and it’s a distressing feeling, not knowing if she’ll ever stop.

There are moments, when Clint’s kids run up to her, naive to the many their age that have died because of her, blind to the fact that she was younger then them when she herself stopped being a child. Those moments, she thinks she stops falling, if only for a moment. She is suspended in air, and it’s a nice reprieve because she can finally breathe a breath that isn’t choked down with the weight of her pain.

And she’s not really sure what actually hurts the most, but it’s always there in the back of her mind, when she has the audacity to try and be happy again, she is reminded that her suspension is not permanent, and soon enough, she’ll be falling again.

Somehow, she can tell she’s nearing the ground. It’s almost over. She almost wants to smile, but she thinks Clint might still be looking down at her, and she doesn’t want him to think she wants to leave him. She doesn’t.

But she’s so _tired_.

Five years is a long time to be alone. An even longer time to be so lonely.

She stepped up, tried to calm down a world of chaos and pain and tears. She talked to Steve everyday, distracted herself from the growing feeling of numbness spreading through her bones. She talked once a week to the others, the ones left, finding a semblance of normal in their talks. She took up ballet once more, because she needed to remind herself that she was marble and _she wouldn’t break_.

She didn’t.

_She didn’t break,_ when she was four and thought the fire that burned through her house and killed her parents was bad, only to realize it was nothing compared to the real hell she was brought into.

_She didn’t break,_ when she was thirteen and pulled the trigger on a nameless man with a bag over his head and binds digging into his skin; a traitor they called him, she hadn’t cared if that was true.

_She didn’t break,_ when she was eighteen and instead of getting a high school diploma she got sterilized and the hope of another person ever loving her unconditionally died along with her hope of ever being redeemable.

_She didn’t break,_ when the only family she’d ever known split over a piece of paper, and she was forced to fight the people she cared for.

_She didn’t break,_ when her best friend’s entire family dissolved into thin air and he didn’t come to her, didn’t seek solace, he _left her_.

She didn’t break. She will not break. She is marble.

Of course, none of that really matters now.

The sound of the wind rushing past is peaceful, and it only serves as a reminder for just how exhausted she is of surviving. There are no breaks, it's just a constant fight over and over and over because _someone_ has to save the world. _Someone_ has to make sure it doesn’t cave in on itself, that it’s inhabitants don’t become history, a tale to be told until it’s inevitably forgotten.

Someone has to be strong, someone has to save the day, win the battle, fight the war. 

_The Avengers_ are heroes when they win. Nobody ever realises that the battle is never really won, because the war is never over, and their heroes are people too, and their _heroes-_ are tired of fighting. _The Avengers_ are a false sense of security, a failsafe, when all seems lost; Gods, even, because no one thinks the _good guys_ ever lose. The Avengers are monsters when they _do_ lose, monsters for letting loved ones die because battles are bloody, because wars have casualties, because sometimes the heroes are not enough because _sometimes-_

Sometimes there is nothing left to fight except yourself because _you_ are not enough.

Natasha doesn’t close her eyes. A single tear slides down her cheek, though in that moment, she isn’t sad. She doesn’t think there is enough time to feel sad then, not when she’s a second away from hitting the ground.

If it hurts when she finally does, she doesn’t realize, because she’s looking up at Clint and she thinks she can feel the droplets of his tears reach her from her position on the ground.

Clint. He won’t forgive her for making him let her go. He won’t forgive her for dying. He won't forgive her, but he’ll have his family, and maybe they can fill the whole she leaves in his heart, maybe they can be enough.

Natasha looks at the sky. It’s beauty mocks her, Vormir’s skies are a mix of colors she’s never even seen before, and the soft light makes the shadows of the mountains gleam. She was wrong when she said she didn’t have enough time to be sad, because in that moment, she wishes that all the people she’s killed got to see this in their last moments too.

Before she dies, she thinks of the other day with Steve, and she wishes she hugged him, if only because she doesn’t think she ever has before; and she knows that he is more sad than he acts, she knows that the cold is eating him up inside.

Vormir is cold, but not on the outside. The type of chill it has settles into your veins, and freezes them over until your heart stops beating. Natasha can’t remember the last time she felt warm.

Vormir is cold, beautifully cold, and soon her chest becomes as still as the tension in the crisp air.

It’s a nice place to die.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank You for reading. 
> 
> Comments make me happy (:


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